


When We Were Two Boys

by skunkrollins



Category: WWE, WWE Universe, ambrollins - Fandom
Genre: Bi, F/M, M/M, Seth Rollins in the Authority, There will be sex, WWE Universe - Freeform, ambrollins - Freeform, bisexuals, hopefully it is good sex, set after the Monday Night Raw following Summerslam, sex happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skunkrollins/pseuds/skunkrollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begins the Monday Night Raw following Summerslam.  Bisexual Seth Rollins POV as he navigates life in the Authority, his ex-teammates Roman Reigns and the lunatic fringe, Dean Ambrose.  Mr. Money in the Bank may find his smug persona hasn't gotten him as far as he thought, and his dreams of success are clouded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Monday Night Raw

Seth has not been the happiest guy, lately. Small, blackish bruises cover his back, legs, arms, and chest in a pattern that he’d normally be happy with, but knowing he got them fending off attacks from ex-teammate Dean Ambrose (instead of training for his future championship against John C- Brock Lesnar). He was Mr. Money in the Fucking Bank, not some chill ass charity case.

Seth rolled to his feet. His black, cotton robe was thrown beside his bedside table. Seth picked it up. His alarm clock, a beautiful steel metal contraption said the time, date, and weather outside. It was 12:30 a.m., the 21rd of August, 2014, and slightly drizzling. The noise outside was harsher than that. It seemed like the sky was pouring down on Seth’s roof.

Right next to the alarm clock was Seth’s Money in the Bank briefcase. It was a slightly sour-smelling testament to Seth’s skills… and Dean Ambrose’s INSISTANT LUNATIC stupidity. Whatever. Seth wasn’t going to think about it.

He rubbed his eyes. His hair was pulled back in a small bun at the back of his neck. Seth stood up, walking out of his bedroom. Though his floor was a cold, dark wood his feet were hot. He burned pretty fiercely lately, Summerslam and Raw had pounded down his immune system too.

He walked into the living room, kitchen area of his home and headed straight to the refrigerator. A puke-green, protein bottle sat in the middle of the refrigerator, surrounded by other gross shades of green, yellow, and brown. Seth grabbed that and leaned over the bar of his sink where he could see the living room TV. He was about to turn it on when he noticed the rain from outside seemed more… compact.

As his tongue flicked the straw of the natural juice in his mouth, preparing for the sour taste of strong lemon and cucumber, Seth ambled over to the door of his apartment. He almost tripped over a broom he’d left in the hallway. Why a broom?

Broom? Oh. He’d punched a hole in his wall. Seth Rollins saw hole on his left. He’d basically stepped into his house after Raw, where he and Kane had sent Ambrose away with the EMT’s, and punched out his wall. The explanation would be left for the therapist Seth refused to ever see but paid for at Triple H’s insistence.

From here, the splashing noise sounded like a hose. Seth peered out the door, blinked in the dark.

It didn’t take long to see a man, bandages over his face and hands, holding Seth’s garden hose and spraying it straight at the front door.

Seth was fully awake in two seconds. He threw open the door and ran full speed at Dean Ambrose. It was so dark outside, Seth’s neighbor’s porch light was the only was he could see clearly, and it took Dean too long to realize Seth was coming at him and clenching a fist.

“YOU!” Seth Rollins yelled. He curled his arm and punched Dean’s constantly injured shoulder. Dean crumbled, hitting the ground with a squish from the mud and dirt.  
Seth immediately sat on Dean’s stomach, aiming his punches at Dean’s chest and throat. “GET THE FUCK OFF MY HOUSE!” He yelled, though he meant to say “get off my lawn” the sentiment was close.

It was the second time Dean had soaked Seth lately. The first was Monday for an impromptu ALS challenge/surprise fight.

“You’re a TURD!” Dean responded. And his eyes widened with his token lunacy as he grabbed the back of Seth’s hair. Dean slammed Seth’s head into the mud. He managed to flip the other man over and grabbed Seth’s ear with his other hand. Seth had a brief moment of realization before Dean forced Seth’s face into the spray of the hose that had fallen in the ground.

As Seth sputtered, Dean screamed, “I WAS COMING TO TALK BUT YOU CHANGED YOUR LOCKS!” Seth tried to kick out of the position but the ground was too slippery to gain traction.

Seth shook his head. He grabbed Dean’s mouth and nose with his hands and tried to stick fingers down Dean’s nose. Dean howled, with pain or anger it was impossible to say. Dean let up just enough for Seth to move his head out of the spray. Seth immediately threw his forehead against Dean’s in a headbutt.

Dean jerked away, letting go. Seth grabbed his forehead and groaned in pain.

“You suck!” Dean moaned, cradling his injuries. On Monday Night Raw, Seth had forced Dean’s head against a stack of cinderblocks, shattering them. Seth had though that he wouldn’t see Dean for at least a month and could finally get some benefits from the Authority (after all, with Stephanie and Nikki the group was at the top of their game).

“I was going to be champion, douche,” Seth managed to mumble. He could feel his lip already swelling. Seth touched it gingerly.

The two sat in the mud for a long moment. Seth squinted at Dean in the darkness but wasn’t able to determine much with Dean’s fringe and bandages.

Dean brandished a fist and Seth tensed. “Whatever.” Dean mustered the strength to stand. His feet slid in the mud.

Seth’s front lawn was basically ruined. His neighbor was a 38 year old female dentist and her 50 year old, gardening house husband. They were always passing judgment at Seth and the once-a-week lawn trimming company he hired. They would be delighted to see the state of his home in the morning.

As Seth contemplated his yard, Dean had stood up and was leaning toward Seth. His eyes were wide but there was no obvious emotion there. “Nice pants,” Dean Ambrose rubbed his shoulder and winced.

Seth really didn’t care that he was just in a robe. He’d worn stranger things while wrestling. “I want to stand up but if you came here to kill me…” he couldn’t think of another thing to say. He knew Dean wouldn’t kill him. Seth was pretty close to wanting to kill Dean, but Dean wouldn’t kill him. Dean would beat him into a fucking coma, he’d break all his bones, steal his title, set his house on fire, but Dean wouldn’t kill him.

“I hope you fight Brock fucking Lesnar and he snaps your fucking hair in half,” Dean said. He sighed and fell into the dirt. His arms were shaking, like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to erupt into violence or fall asleep. “Bet you suck Triple H’s dick, and Nikki sucks his dick. I bet you have parties where everyone sucks his dick.”

Seth looked at Dean. “Okay,” he said while rolling his eyes.

“I said I bet you suck his dick,” Dean repeated. He stared at Seth in his strange, unblinking way of staring.

“Maybe I suck Nikki’s dick,” Seth said because he was tired. “Maybe you want to suck Triple H’s dick. Maybe Stephanie McMahon has bigger dick than your dick.”

“Cause you like dicks, you suck Triple H’s dick and grovel at his fucking feet,” Dean said.

Seth sighed and threw his back down, hitting the mud with a splash. The hose was still running, but he was at the point where he was so dirty it didn’t matter. “What do you fucking want? Break my nose? Fuck you. Fuck you, Dean, I don’t care. Fuck you.” Seth forced himself, unsteadily, to his feet. He threw his head up with as much smug authority as he could. “I don’t care.”

“I know.” Dean’s mouth spat with venom.

“WHAT?!” Seth yelled. His voice sounded loud in the night, since the only other sound was the hose and crickets. “WHAT more do you want!”

“I don’t know!” Dean turned sharply, his arms shaking and hands curling open and closed. “AUGH!” He snapped.

“No disqualification?! Broken bones?! Because this-” Seth leaned forward, talking slowly and harshly, “this is getting old.” Seth pulled his muddied robe around his chest tighter. He turned away and began walking toward the door.

“I know you talked to Triple H about coming out!” Dean yelled, with the tact of a third grader.

Seth turned sharply. “I’m not…” He spat the words out with venom, “I am not gay.”

“I know what bi means,” Dean said. His face was angry. “You left us to fucking suck dick.”

“That was not a meeting about the Authority!” Seth snapped.

“You suck Triple H’s dick! You admitted it!” Dean yelled, confidently. The bandage around his head started to turn lightly red, but it wasn’t worrying.

There were three seconds of cricket chirping and hose leaking before Seth replied. “Triple H is old and wrinkly and gross.”

“YEAH!” Dean agreed venomously, “He’s a Voldemort and you’re all sucking his-”

“Stop saying I suck his dick! Nobody sucks his dick!” Seth said, “Maybe Stephanie but I don’t know, I don’t care, that’s not my business, they have kids or something like I don’t care that’s disgusting!”

“You met him!” Dean punched the air, “Then you left SHIELD!”

“Fucking,” Seth snapped. He turned around toward the house but turned back to Dean. Stepping forward, Seth pointed his words with his finger, “I met Triple H about coming out. Whatever. He said it wasn’t the right time, ‘cause the Shield are rolemodels or whatever.” He swallowed hard and continued with dignity. “I get it. So fine. But then he said I could leave the Shield, get better matches, get a better salary, and maybe we could talk about it in a year. But there was the salary too, so I thought ‘fuck yeah’ and that’s it.” Seth stepped back, nearly tripped, but gathered himself.

Dean stared unblinkingly. In the dark his eyes seemed brighter. “You did leave to suck dick.”

“I sucked clits!” Seth defended, “I had tons of tits! I was up to my ear in tits! I didn’t leave for dicks! Shut up!”

“Roman and I were your brothers,” Dean growled.

“I proved myself in singles over and over this year,” Seth snapped. “So shut up. This wasn’t about you. It was about me. I want to be fucking champion and not be a liar so whatever I can do whatever I want. Shut up, you lunatic.” He gripped the sides of his arms tightly.

Dean just stared.

Seth glared back at his rough eyes. “It could matter to people!”

Dean shook his head. “You’re selfish.”

“Go away, Dean.” Seth turned around. He was opening his back for a fight but he didn’t think Dean would take it.

“You could suck my dick and come back!” Dean yelled.

Seth turned, his face burning and arms shaking with anger. He slammed the door of his house shut so hard the walls shook.

“SETH!” Dean was yelling as Seth locked the door and went to sleep.


	2. Kayfabe

Seth tried to avoid going near the Miz as he waited outside Triple H’s office with Nikki. The Miz’s foamy lite pumpkin spice latte was wafting through the air like the forbidden nectar of the gods. Seth was sipping on a “wake up” concoction of cucumber, spinach, apples, lime, celery, and ginger. His trainer insisted on this diet. Something about getting leaner, building muscle, and making his abs ‘pop’.

Seth Rollins tried to comfort himself with the thought that a flabby stomach would make the Miz irrelevant, but the scent of unattainable sugar was making his eyes drop.

_You could suck my dick and come back?_ The words played in Seth’s mind, with a different inflection every time.

Dean Ambrose was going to be irrelevant. Seth glared at the back of a chair on the opposite side of the waiting room. There were copies of the WWE magazine, Sports Illustrated, and People on the table in the center of the room. On walls, large posters for Summerslam and Wrestlemania with Triple H’s ‘serious face’ were framed.

The Miz was talking nonsense into his phone. Nikki was texting. She wasn’t the friendliest teammate, especially considering how the Authority had pinned Brock Lesnar against her boyfriend, John Cena.

The Authority wasn’t really the type of team that hung out on their off days.

“Alright,” Stephanie opened the door, her hair in long brown Hollywood waves. She was confident and intimidating. Seth thought he looked good next to Stephanie. He liked to think he had a certain aura of strength and confidence that matched her, made them seem like a team.

“Authority meeting,” she said. “Come on.” Stephanie didn’t gesture, she just walked back into the room and left the door open.

Seth walked by the Miz and dropped his green ‘wake up’ juice in the D-lister’s lap. “Throw this out for me,” he ordered. And he stepped into Triple H’s office with a smug grin.  He could put on a swagger like the best, even when he didn't feel it. Somewhere beneath his exterior… Seth had a feeling he was not in control. Seth hated that feeling.

There was a really annoying part of him that was just imagining Dean’s dick sliding along his lower spine and against his ass rubbing rubbing rubbing and that part needed to go away.

Triple H has two rooms in his office, one with a desk and more WWE decorations, and the other a transparent, rectangular room with an oval steel chair and a view. Triple H was sitting there, a Diet Coke and a foot of files in front of him. In the middle of the room shone a bowl filled with bagels. Seth’s mouth watered.

_Abs,_ he reminds himself. _I’m doing this for the abs._

Stephanie sat next to Triple H, Seth sat in the middle where he can see the view, and Nikki Bella sat on the far end. Randy Orton and Kane came through the door a moment later, and they both took up residence with their backs toward the windows. For some reason it was always strange seeing Kane without his mask, even though Seth saw him nearly every day.

It was admittedly more surreal to walk down the halls of the WWE and see Stardust or Golddust hammering about the cosmic key… Seth hasn’t figured out how to make sense of that yet.

“Is Lesnar coming?” Randy Orton asked.

“No,” Triple H said, flipping through the first folder. “Haymen is showing him off at some yacht show.” Kane rolled his eyes at that.

“First order of business, we’re getting positive results on our Summerslam video. Good job,” Triple H said unfeelingly. He’s far more lively and not-bored-to-tears when he leaves his office. “However I do have a memo from marketing, they say we’re not appealing to the toy-buying generation. We need some of our members to seem more friendly and,” he coughed in his hand, “relatable to children.”

“How do you think this crowd is supposed to do that?” Randy Orton groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe if we let some goody two-shoes onto the squad… besides Nikki here.” He winked at her, but Nikki wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” Stephanie McMahon nodded, “I was thinking we should think about recruiting someone the fans consider… softer. More innocent. But who can still pack a bit of a punch. Even if it’s just a bit.”

Seth could see where she was leaning. “I don’t want to work with Bo Dallas,” he said immediately.

“I want Bo Dallas as far from my image as possible,” Randy Orton agreed.

“He’s cute,” Nikki said slowly, “he’s just not… you know?”

“I would _punch_ Bo Dallas,” Kane offered.

“We’re going to hire Bo Dallas,” Triple H said, nodding severely, “once we know what Bo Dallas _wants.”_

“Inspiration?” Nikki guessed, “A charity organization?”

Triple H wrote that down. “Alright, who else has an idea?”

“I was thinking getting him a book deal, or a short training segment,” Stephanie answered.

“That’s great.” Seth dismissed the current conversation. “There’s something I need to bring up, about Dean Ambrose.”

Randy Orton groaned and threw his head back on his chair.

Kane frowned. “I thought we took him out. For at least a month.”

“Dean’s hard headed, he vandalized my house last night,” Seth said. “Look, he might know something that-”

“I have a match lined up for Ambrose,” Stephanie said, her voice nonchalant. “It’s a good plan. I want to put him in a revenge Lumberjack match with-”

“This isn’t about a match, it’s about what we discussed,” Seth Rollins gestured to Triple H, “when I joined the Authority…”

“I’m _talking!”_ Stephanie ordered. She glared at Seth. A few moments went by. (Randy Orton buttered a sesame seed bagel.) “Now,” she said slowly, “on Monday Night Raw, you and I are going to come out and announce that Ambrose is matched up tonight in a Lumberjack match with Sin Cara.”

Nikki frowned. “Ambrose will smoke Sin Cara.”

“Yes, which is why at the last moment, Sin Cara isn’t going to make it. So,” Stephanie grinned, “Brock Lesnar will step in.”

Seth’s eyes widened, but besides that he stayed neutral. “I’m worried about something…” He looked at Triple H. “You remember what I, what we, talked about when I joined?”  
Triple H frowned. He flipped to the next part in his folder, seemingly ignoring Seth, and gave a long, drawn out say. When he answered, it was strained. “Yes,” he looked at Seth with a harsh look in his eyes, a look that said _I nearly died in a ring but never broke character, I’m a fucking legend_ , “but I told you it’s not right for your image or the Authority’s image right now.”

“I know, I have ten months left,” Seth began, but Triple H stopped him by raising a hand.

“It’s going to be much longer than that,” he said, “we’re trying to build your brand right now. We can’t do that if you change your image.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Besides,” Stephanie said, “people have _children_ who watch this show. Hell, I have kids who watch this show.”

Seth’s face burned in embarrassment.

Stephanie continued, “The brand does not need you parading that around. Other wrestlers may refuse your matches, and then what? So tell whatever twink you have on the side-”

Randy Orton gave a scoff as he understood the subtext. Nikki looked at her feet.

“…that your love life is not some big, political statement for TV. There’s already someone with that angle. So look, we respect you and how hard you’re working. So maybe in the future. But we’re not guaranteeing anything.” Stephanie looked at Seth hard in the eye. “Do you get it?”

Seth shook, not with rage but shame. His cheeks boiled and it felt like someone cracked an egg on his head and the sticky mess was crawling along his neck. His thighs were tight, balls nonexistent, his stomach clammy and his breath shaking.

Seth had been out of the closet for one month out of his life, and it had been fine. He’d been dating a girl then, and he had two friends, Cindy Hannison the waitress and Clyde Thomas the cook, who were also bisexual. Then he got signed in the WWE and the feelings of acceptance (more importantly, the utter _peace_ and feeling of _owning_ his identity) flew out the window. With that came his dreams, and all he wanted, so he took that. But there was a clawing feeling, like beetles nibbling through his intestines into his lungs, which sometimes made him want to scream for air. The feeling was relieved which Triple H looked at him and said _“in a year”_ but now it was back, back in full force, and the beetles were in his chest and his ribs and they sunk down in his skin. Goosepimples covered his arms.

“I’m just saying that Dean knows. He might say something.” Seth said, quietly but not softly.

“If he does,” Stephanie answered curtly, “go on a date with a girl. He’s a lunatic, no one will take it seriously.”

Seth could feel their eyes watching him, as Nikki, Randy, and Kane rethought the images of him they had in their heads.

“I don’t care what you do in your _spare_ time,” Stephanie said with the gentle smile of a saint.

Seth didn’t speak as they discussed Bo Dallas and their latest appearance at some theater he’d never heard of. Nikki watched him silently.


	3. Explicit Ambrose Violence

Nikki sat up in the curved position she did naturally now, the one that showed off her assets. She was looking intently at the behind stage screen, even though nothing was on at the moment. Monday Night Raw would begin soon.

Seth wondered why it was so easy for her to dismiss what the Authority did to John Cena. He shifted, he was leaning against the wall beside the chairs. Randy Orton, Lesnar, and Stephanie would arrive shortly so they could open the show.

Maybe Nikki blamed Roman Reigns and his feud, the one that forced Triple H to bring Brock Lesnar back under contract with WWE. Seth had also heard Cena wasnt the easiest guy to get along with. He had OCD or something. It must be odd.

"Hey," Nikki said softly. Seth nearly didn't catch it at first.

He ran a hand over his beard and sighed. "Hey," he answered neutrally.

Nikki looked up at Seth, her doe eyes unreadable. "I just want you to know, if I," she turned away and rubbed a bruise on her arm, "I just... I don't think it's right that Triple H won't let you come out. I think it's important for young kids to have representation."

Seth turned his gaze to the ceiling. "I'm not gay," he felt the need to clarify, "I'm bisexual. I could be with a girl so it might not matter."

"I mean," Nikki frowned, "but it's part of you. Even if you never loved a man your whole life its still a part of you. And it's important."

A janitor shuffled by, pushing a cart of wires. After he passed Seth watched the place where the man had been for a long moment. "Thanks," he eventually said, "it means something."

Nikki smiled sadly.

Seth felt an odd kinship with her, and for the first time membership in the Authority felt better. It wasn't like his attempts to stand near Stephanie McMahon, or prove his own beside Triple H. It felt more like brotherhood.

Large feet stomped down the hall as Brock Lesnar arrived. Seth and Nikki both acted like they hadn't spoken.

...

Lights burned in his eyes if he looked at them. The crowd was hardly visible behind the impressive stone wall of bright white, it seeped into his brain somehow, and every time Seth Rollins stepped onto the ring it was as if he entered a new universe.

_(He briefly wondered if Stardust and Golddust experienced the same thing.)_

He could see the signs held by the lowest row of fans and he could see their faces. It was only by multiplying thag image by 20 he could fully comprehend the sheer force of people who were watching him.

It was electrifying. Standing there felt like he was basking in hubris. It didn't matter if they were cheering his name or shouting "You sold out!"; Seth was alight and burning with the sheer power of each second.

"...only 9.99!" Stephanie McMahon was saying _(over and over)_.

Nikki posed at Stephanie's side, and Seth stood with Brock Lesnar. Randy Orton had been called away, Seth couldn't figure out what for. Whatever it was, it was an opportunity Seth wanted.

It was supposed to be his parade, his evolution.

Briefly, as Stephanie began to declare a challenge for Brie Bella against Paige, Seth looked at the back of Brock Lesnar's head. Seth tightened his fist around his Money in the Bank briefcase.

He'd been so close to the title before Dean Ambrose ruined it. John Cena was out, Seth had every advantage, he was about to cash in, and fucking Ambrose came at him. It pissed him off.

_You could suck my dick and come back!_

Seth shook his head and turned his gaze to Stephanie. _("Sin Cara will face off with Dean Ambrose tonight!" Stephanie yelled and then waited for the applause.)_ He shifted his feet, feeling constricted in the black vest he wore. The long pants were nice, he'd learned that in SHIELD, but he preferred an open chest when it came to movement. Still, the aesthetic was marketable...

"Why doesn't ILL Dean Ambrose ILL face off right now?" Dean Ambrose's voice came out over the loudspeaker.

Seth turned sharply toward the front of the stage as a painfully familiar song began to play. He gripped the Money in the Bank briefcase to his chest. _(He heard an announcer mention it.)_ And then, as the realization that the song playing was "Hounds of Justice".

Roman Reigns walked out first, and he was flanked on his sides by Dean Ambrose _(in his grey shirt and jeans)_ and Brie Bella _(in a black and white, tight spandex costume with "Brie Mode" emblazoned in red on the front)_.

Dean Ambrose handed a microphone to Brie Bella. "Well, Stephanie," Brie said, her eyes sharp and angry, her voice sweet and pointed, "why don't you step out of the ring? Wouldn't want to overstep your boundaries and get one of your show ponies arrested, would you?"

The crowd was, of course, overjoyed by the rule breaking and unexpected match in front of them.

Seth burned with anger. SHIELD was supposed to be gone. Fucking BELLA was standing next to Roman and Dean like she was a big deal.

Seth walked up to the edge of the ring, his expression murder.

"What do you think you're going to do?" Stephanie snapped, "Are you going to fight Brock Lesnar, Brie? Do you think you can HANDLE being in the ring with the big dogs?"  
"She can handle," Roman Reigns grabbed the mike, "anything we can."

"You're all obsessed," Seth growled into a microphone, "you're so jealous of our team that you're trying to revive a dead one." He ignored the boos. "Brie can't handle her sister isn't her lapdog anymore," Seth actually had no idea what their deal was, "and Roman Reigns is babysitting his rabid, _stalking_ , charity case." He watched the fury boiling up in Dean, knowing the other man's triggers.

Dean stood still for a moment, and as their eyes were locked it felt like the entire stadium was quiet. In reality, the crowd was screaming and Nikki was yelling abuse. There was a strange juxtaposition between reality and Dean Ambrose.

"Fuck you!" Dean Ambrose yelled without a mike, and though the words disappeared in the noise Seth read them on the other man's lips easy enough.

It wasn't easy to say who was the first one to start fighting, but Seth was mostly sure Brock Lesnar was the first one to jump down the ring.

The problem was, Seth turned to look at some movement and Dean had flown up at him. Seth had been thrown to the floor like a doll, landing first on his head and the flipping onto his right shoulder.

As he was stunned, Dean's fingers grasped his ankle and dragged him. Seth couldn't see anything, he was blinking too fast and fighting off the tears of pain. He felt his legs being lifted and his body turned over. Seth was being put into a lock. Still unable to see, he kicked out as hard as he could. There was the satisfying feeling of his foot making contact.

Seth was dropped. He took a sharp breath and crawled forward as the world came into focus. He turned backwards when he felt his back touch the ropes.  
Dean held a bandaged hand to his mouth, he stood slightly bent over, glaring at Seth.

_("It's a brawl! Right here on stage! And where are Stephanie McMahon and Paul Heyman?")_

Dean stood up. In one hand, he was holding the Money in the Bank briefcase.

"No!" Seth yelled. He grabbed one of the roped and pulled his shaking body down out of the ring. Dean advanced, his singular gaze more disturbing than the entirety of a Soska film. "No!" Seth struggled to his feet. His arms were stiff to he unzipped his vest and let it fall. Seth held up his arms, palms open, ready to grab the briefcase.

_("I believe they left."_  
 _"And miss this! Cowards!"_  
 _"Well someone has to alert the rest of the Authority-"_  
 _"Their teammates are ambushed and they turn tail and run!")_

"No," Seth lifted a finger. He stepped back when Dean jumped out of the ring. "No, no, don't you dare!"

Dean's jaw was locked. He charger forward. Seth tried to move away. Dean slammed the briefcase into Seth's stomach.

Seth groaned but grabbed the briefcase. He kicked Dean in the side with a technique from kickboxing, Dean bent over slightly and Seth pulled the briefcase down and slammed his head against Dean's forehead.

He did _(mostly)_ proper form but his brain still felt heavy. Seth stumbled backward.

Seth knew he had lost the advantage. He also knew he didn't want his head smashed into cinder blocks. Whatever Dean Ambrose was made of, Seth was sure he wouldn't come out of that fighting.

_Well,_ Seth assured himself, _it didn't matter whether or not the crowd was screaming for him or against him, right?_

He forced himself up to shaking feet, and ran to the closest exit.


	4. Sucking Up

Seth stepped with an interrupted gait. His feet hit the floor strong, creating a banging sound not unlike a stomp. His gym bag was thrown over his shoulder and he dug through the side pocket for the keys to his car as he furiously entered the parking lot.

_This is not happening,_ he thought lamely to himself. He was too fed up with Dean Ambrose and now Roman Reigns...

"Fucking Lesnar," Seth growled. He had _Brock Lesnar_ at his side and he _still_ got stuck with the lunatic charging after his head...

A lunatic who was standing next to Seth's car. Dean Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest, wearing his faux leather jacket _(easier to move his arms in)_ and trademark ripped jeans. He looked like he stepped out of a Grease movie, it he didn't have his baby face and annoyingly fringe-y hair.

Seth really just wanted to break Dean's nose.

Seth's car was a sleep, black Chevy with red trim. It was great. It got such fantastic miles he nearly pissed himself when he found out. And Seth did not want Dean _anywhere near_ the car. Especially since he paid for it with the raise he'd gotten for turning to the Authority _(turning_ heel _the fans kept calling it)_.

Seth stopped slowly, adopting a spread stance. He stuffed his keys into his pocket and tightened his grip on the gym bag over his shoulder. He'd thrown one of his t-shirts on, though he was still wearing his uniform pants and shoes. Even though he was feeling sick and sore _(though he was_ angrier _than anything else and most of his symptoms were a result of that anger)_ Seth decided he was ready to fight. "Are you doing this old school?"

Dean glared at him. He stood up straight and Dean dropped the Money in the Bank briefcase. It clattered on the floor; over and over, seemingly echoing forever. Seth listened to it silently.

"What?" Dean said, shrugging. He continued with his smug, casual tone, "Guess you dropped this."

Seth didn't answer.

He could tell that the silence bothered Dean. "It's not like we were just going to give up. The Authority took you, and they split up the Bellas." He uncrossed his arms and flexed his fingers. "You can tell your boss's dick when you suck it that SHIELD isn't going to stop and we are not done."

"Don't," Seth raised his hand and said with pained annoyance, "don't start that again."

Feeling somewhat safer, Seth gave Dean a wide berth and opened the other side of his car, throwing in his gym bag. He shut the door and looked over the top. "I don't," Seth began and stopped, feeling the swelling anger claw up into his throat. He couldn't help but grin. It wasn't a genuine grin, but it was the smile that showed up when you were being yelled at, or you were sick, or your stomach heart and you couldn't take it. It was a survival grin. "I don't give a flying fuck about the survival of the Authority," he laughed. It was sour.

Dean faced him, a tired expression on his face. "All that matters is the _Evolution of Seth Rollins_ huh. And Seth's stupid..." He sputtered a bit, unable to think of the words.

Seth held his hand out over the car. "I'll take the briefcase." Dean didn't move.

Seth set his jaw. "Fine," he snapped. He walked around toward Dean. Moving quickly and angrily, he bent down in front of Dean and grabbed the briefcase.

Dean's hand fell on Seth's head and he gripped Seth's hair.

Seth moved slowly as he stood up, keeping his head straight. He looked at Dean, wide eyed, remembering there weren't witnesses.

Dean's eyes were wide and his face frowning. They were closer together than they'd been in months without fighting. Seth finally felt like he could _look_ at Dean. He stood carefully, keeping his head up, not wanting to feel his skull colliding with the side of his car door. Not wanting to stop being close to the man who was his best friend.

"Ambrose," Seth warned.

Dean gripped Seth's hair hard, causing a sharp jab, and then let go. Seth shook his head. Their arms were nearly touching, Dean's foot stood slightly in front of Seth's at the tip of his toes.

"I was selfish when I left but I'm still going to be selfish," Seth said. His voice came out harsher than he anticipated. "I worked hard to get where I am. I worked hard to be selfish."

"We all work _hard,_ Seth," Dean said. He was mad. "We _all_ work. The Authority splits up friends, they split up family. I'm going to destroy them."

Seth's stomach hurt and his blood coursed through his head. "Would you.." He had a dry mouth. "Do you.. Why do you keep coming after me? I nearly fucking killed you. If you keep doing this I'll have to throw a fucking funeral for your dumb ass."

"You were my brother." Dean spoke as if that should answer every question.

Seth leaned forward with a sigh. He dropped his face into the crook of Dean's neck under the other man's left shoulder. Dean stiffened. Seth dropped his arms, still holding onto the Money in the Bank briefcase with the tips of his fingers.

He felt his whole body relaxing as he breathed in. Seth let go of the weight of everything and leaned into Dean Ambrose. He closed his eyes.

Dean's hand awkwardly tapped on Seth's back once and then he left it there.

"Everything," Seth groaned into Dean's digastric muscle, "everything is such shit."

Dean breathed in sourly. "Yeah." He wrapped his arms around Seth's shoulders. "Boy. It is shit. It's such shit."

Seth turned his face so his mouth touched the inside of Dean's neck. His throat hummed. "I just wanted my fucking life back."

"We get paid minimum wage, we don't have nothing."

"I get paid like... six figures now," Seth chuckled.

“Was the money a part of it?” Dean wondered. Seth could feel Dean’s voice on his lips.

A sudden, strong emotion sunk into Seth’s groin. He could feel lust hungering in his head, through his lips, his throat, his dick, his thighs… it hung there, ready and surging like a tidal wave suspended in the air. He felt _starving_ too, and the hungry feeling in his stomach just felt the need in his head. “A bit.” Seth groped his pocked for his keys, unlocking the car. He forced his face away from the crook of Dean’s neck and reached under the other man’s arm to open the back of his car. He pulled the door open and Dean stepped aside. “Sit down,” Seth asked. He pushed Dean into the car before the other man had a choice in the matter.

Dean fell down, the back of his neck hitting the chair, but he sat upward immediately. “Rollins,” he said, with no meaning in the word.

Seth pushed himself forward in the car, moving Dean back until the other man’s shoulders lay against the car window. Seth pushed himself into the car until he could shut the door behind himself. He grabbed Dean’s upper thighs with his hands, the softness of Dean’s jeans sending a jolt through him.

“Fuck,” Seth whispered. It was quiet in the car. Dean shoved Seth’s gym bag to the floor as he tried to straighten himself. Every little noise sounded too loud, and again Seth wondered about how strange reality felt with Dean Ambrose. The stupid, angry, baby-faced wrestler with too much moxie and pent-up aggression for his own good, and Seth, the one who desperately pursued his career, willing to do whatever it took and to bury anything and everything deep in himself until he imploded.

Seth dropped his face into the crotch of Dean’s jeans. His beard scratched against Dean’s belt and it made goosepimples crawl up his arms.

“I’m okay,” Dean said. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

Seth’s body was crunched up against the side of the car, his stomach at an odd angle in the seat and Dean’s shoe dug into one of his kidneys. He kept his face down. Somehow, he felt that if he looked Dean in the eye the mood would be gone.

He tried to get his mouth watering. Dry mouth was the worst. As he slipped his fingers over to undo Dean’s belt, Seth kept fighting to keep his mouth working. The belt undid with a snap, and he slid the zipper down too quickly to fully register anything. With a sharp movement, Seth tugged Dean’s jean’s down just over the curve of the man’s ass. Dean’s underwear was a dark black, nearly brown, plain color. Probably from Walmart. He grabbed the elastic of the underwear and flipped it down over the top of Dean’s jeans. He had to force his hands under Dean’s ass to get them to stay there steadily.

It wasn’t the first time Seth had seen Dean naked, but he, Roman, Dean, and anyone else in the gym were always flaccid and he’d never really… _creeped_ on any of the other men before. It made him feel strange. He was generally able to leave those emotions far behind when his body was sore from a long workout. This felt good.

Curled, light brown hairs ran down the center of his stomach in a speckled row. They reached a crescendo in the space between his hip bones. Dean had thick ball sacks between his thighs and a veined, three inches soft dick with a hardly pronounced glands. It did match his lip color. He was a grower, Seth observed.

He wanted to make it angry, red, and steel hard.

Dean let out a shaking sigh. His left hand grabbed the back of the driver's seat and his right hand clenched over a seat belt, lifting his body up.

Seth wrapped two fingers and a thumb around the bottom of Dean's dick. He held Dean's balls carefully with his other hand, just gently making a massaging motion.  
He felt like he'd won, at this moment, Dean was more-or-less at his mercy in a more profound way than Seth had been in the ring.

Seth licked his lips and gathered moisture in the front of his mouth. He repositioned his back and then wrapped Dean's glands with his tongue, covering the tip of his dick with his lips and then slowly sucking as he released. He did that again. Dean sighed again and Seth could feel the ripples of that breath shaking the other man's stomach and thighs.

Seth sucked gently on Dean's glands, slowly rubbing the front of his tongue along the underside of Dean's dick. His fingers pumped Dean's base, going faster as he felt the dick harden, and his thumb switched between Dean's balls, massaging in circles. Seth leaned heavily on his elbows.

He could feel Dean's dorsal artery becoming more pronounced.

"Fucking," Dean groaned. Seth finally glanced up, and noticed Dean's head was pressed back against the window and his eyes closed.

Seth slipped his mouth forward, Dean's cock had grown almost five inches and was nearly fully hard. He could fit half of it easily in the front of his mouth. He ducked deeply, pressing his tongue against the dick as his cheeks collapsed. His fingers began to pump furiously.

Dean moaned under his breath.

Seth could feel his own body responding, and the lack of touch there only made him respond to Dean's motions harder. He pulled back, paused a moment to admire the near six inches he'd brought Dean too, and began to pump hard on Dean's dick with his mouth.

"Seth, _fuck,"_ Dean groaned, his voice so low and masculine that Seth's stomach flipped with nerves. "God, Seth, keep doing that, fuck Seth, sorry about your head, Yes, _damnitseth."_

Seth felt his beard scraping on Dean's testicles, and god his beard and Dean's cock made him feel like a king. He tried to set a fierce pace, but the harder he stroked his his fingers and pumped Dean's cock the faster the other man thrusted into his mouth. It was messy and uncoordinated, Dean's hands grabbed Seth's hair and the other man's ankles coiled around Seth's shoulders. He was hitting his own pace, and Seth just needed it to get faster.

The back of his tongue kept a furious rhythm on Dean's glands, and Seth's fingers were getting sore when the other man pulled Seth's mouth off of him suddenly.

Seth's mouth gaped for a moment _(there was a sharp tugging from his hair being pulled that felt good)_ and he stared directly into Dean's eyes.

He didn't want to look at Dean that way.

Dean looked wasted, his lips were swollen, his eyes bright and aware, his cheeks flushed beyond belief, and his hair even messier than it began. "I'm there, Seth, I'm about to," he stared.

Seth pulled himself up by the elbows, unable to stop staring at Dean in the eyes, and with a few pumps of his wrist Dean was gone.

The other man tensed and shook, his cock spurting out three times and hitting the front of Seth's t-shirt from that angle. Seth held on to the sides of Dean's hips, holding him down and just... holding.

He'd seen Dean's O’ face, and frankly it looked just as ridiculous and erotic as he'd imagined. Seth's cock strained against his own pants, but he slipped his body against Dean's, resting his groin between the other man's thighs. He was close to.

Seth slid his left hand down to Dean's thigh, lifting it up against his groin. "C'mon," he muttered, his voice husky and dark. "Dean, c'mon." He moved the other man's muscle against his cock and the fabric.

Their noses were touching at this point, and Dean's eyes came to an understanding in only a few seconds. Dean's large hands grabbed Seth's ass, and he lifted and rubbed his thigh against Seth's groin. It seemed like only a few seconds before Seth came in his pants.

He slumped against Dean's chest. Too tired and too full of _something_ to lift his arms or attempt to move at all.

 


End file.
